


Chill/Thaw

by xazliin



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, Not Beta Read
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2020-08-19 17:51:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20213839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xazliin/pseuds/xazliin
Summary: October is cold, Auston is colder.





	1. Chill

**Author's Note:**

> This was written in the middle of the 2018/2019 season, before the absolute mess that has been this summer. I found it a few days ago in my WIPs and decided to clean it up a little and post it. I'm not really a Leafs fan, more a Mitch Marner enthusiast, but I tried to do my best. Thanks for reading!

October is cold. 

Auston is colder.

\-----

Mitch and Auston don’t talk about it---not with words, anyway. They talk with twitching hands and fleeting eye contact. They talk in swallowed syllables and chilled silences.

And it’s like---

To everyone else, nothing has happened. If Mitch were Willy or Zach or Kappy he’d have no fucking clue about anything. About this major development in Mitch’s life.

Sometimes someone---Mitch’s mom or his brother or some rando on the street---will look just a little too long, just a little too hard at him and Mitch will have this moment of “How can you not know?”. His parents at least might have guessed something was up. When they visited over the summer he could hardly say Auston’s name without flinching.

Auston is, as far as Mitch goes, completely unaffected by it. Only, he really isn’t. Mitch and him don’t hang out together anymore, not without another person as a buffer. And sometimes Mitch can tell he’s laughing a little too loud or being a little too quiet for the room. 

Or maybe Mitch is just projecting.

\-----

Auston goes home with a girl---tall, long legs, blonde---and Mitch bites his cheek. He knows the routine well enough to know Auston won’t see her after tomorrow morning. 

Mitch tries to use the pain to centre himself. He has no claim to Auston. Auston can do whatever he wants with whomever he wants.

Mitch convinces Marty to buy him a sparkling water for no reason aside wanting to know he can. He doesn’t even like sparkling water. Nobody likes sparkling water. 

At the end of the night, Marty looks from Mitch’s half-empty glass to his face and back to the glass. Everyone still there is clearing out the bar by now. Willy, who seems to be dealing with some shit of his own, at one point thought it was a good idea to do tequila shots. He’s clinging onto one of Marty’s arms and one of Freddie’s arms. His eyes are shining. All-in-all, the night’s pretty shitty.

Marty looks like he’s about to do something stupid like ask Mitch if he’s okay. Mitch downs the rest of the sparkling water as quickly as he can. 

“You want me to take him home?” Mitch offers, gesturing to Willy.

He watches the battle in Marty’s eyes. It seems like it physically pains Marty to turn down an opportunity to be responsible, but he loves his wife. It’s not difficult to tell he’s been missing her all night.

Eventually, Marty says, “If you feel up to handling him.”

Mitch smiles. He pats Willy on the shoulder. “Let’s go, buddy.”

Willy groans.

“See you at practice on Tuesday, yeah?” Marty asks. He’s got this look on his face Mitch can’t quite decipher.

Mitch nods, “Later.” He grabs Willy by the arm. “C’mon dude.”

With only some reluctance from Willy, Mitch manages to drag him outside and into their Uber. Willy sprawls right over into Mitch’s personal space immediately. His fingers dig into the fabric of Mitch’s sweater. He’s pretty sure he’s getting snot all over it too. The driver gives them a weird look, but thankfully says nothing and turns the radio up. 

“You’re getting my clothes all gross, dude,” Mitch says gently. He pats the top of Willy’s head. “You got a couple tissues, at least?”

Willy shakes his head.

“You wanna, like, talk about it?”

He shakes his head again.

Mitch exhales. The lights of Toronto fly past outside the window. There’s always been something oddly comforting about a city at night. All the sounds fade into white noise, the white noise fades into a sleepy silence.

As they’re about to reach his apartment, Willy stops crying. “I’m sad,” he whispers. Then he pulls back and his eyes widen, like he’s just realizing he too can feel real human emotions.

Mitch pats his head comfortingly, “Me too, buddy.”

He makes sure Willy stays upright on the walk up to the building, handing him over to the responsible hands of the elevator. The ride back to his own apartment is quieter. It walks the line between peaceful and lonely. Mitch doesn’t even pull out his phone out of fear of breaking the mood.

They pull up to Mitch’s building all too quickly. “Thanks for the ride,” Mitch mumbles on his way out.

“Are you and your friend alright?” the driver asks, instead of saying you’re welcome like a normal human being.

“Sure,” Mitch says. He high-tails it into his apartment without doing anything else. He feels bad later and rates the driver five-stars.

Mitch tries not to dwell on the whole night.

\-----

Mitch still remembers the way Auston smelt. Musky. A sharp hint of salt. The ghostings of that pretentious cologne he wears. He remembers how Auston’s eyes shone with want, their expressions more open than they’d dare allow anywhere else. 

The room was dark, but enough light floated through the open window to reflect off Auston’s lips. Austons lips. They licked a trail up the muscles on Mitch’s stomach and Mitch tangled his fingers in the sheets hard enough to hurt. The marks were there for nearly a week afterward.

They fell asleep tangled together. 

\-----

Auston won’t even look at him anymore.

Mitch hates how it---hates that it can make him feel this way. He hates the ice that spreads through his chest whenever Auston says something about a girl he met last weekend. Hates Auston’s stupid eyes and his stupid face. Most of all Mitch hates how he doesn’t hate Auston. He can’t even find it within himself to get angry over it.

He was angry over the offseason, Mitch reasons. He used his anger all up.

Mitch spends a lot of time alone. Well, not really, because his time is usually split between playing hockey and team dinners, but aside from that. It’s---not exactly therapeutic. Maybe refreshing? It feels nice to sit by himself and not have to be anything for anyone else. Mitch watches a lot of Netflix.

He’s fifteen minutes into an episode of Breaking Bad when a knock appears, insistent and solid, on his front door. Mitch peels himself off the couch.

Maybe he’s expecting it to be Auston. Maybe he’s not. Either way, Mitch is surprised when he opens the door and Mo is standing in the middle of his hallway. 

Mo’s got his hands in his pockets and a smile on his face, “Hey, Marns.”

“Hey,” Mitch nods. He opens the door wider and motions for Mo to come in. “What are you doing here?”

“Wanted to see if you’re up for some Call of Duty?” Mitch watches Mo spread himself out on Mitch’s couch. It’s this white leather thing. Entirely impractical. Auston convinced him to buy it, though. For the “aesthetic”.

“You could have texted,” Mitch says.

Mo just shrugs. Mitch switches the TV from Netflix to Call of Duty. A thick tense quiet fills the spaces between gunshots. Mitch wins the first two rounds.

Eventually, Mo sighs and sets down his controller, “Y’know, you can always talk to me about anything.”

Mitch bites his lip and nods.

“So, is there anything?---that you’d want to talk about.”

Mitch chuckles and pats Mo’s arm. “If there’s ever anything I want to talk about, you’ll be the first to hear it.”

Mo eyes him skeptically. “You’ve just been a bit off these past few weeks. You and Auston. We’ve been a little worried about you.”

Mitch knows he shouldn’t, but he can’t help but bite. “What’s going on with Auston?”

“If he hasn’t told you, I definitely shouldn’t.”

“That sounds...ominous.”

Mo sighs again, leans forward onto his elbows, “Seriously, Marns. I’m concerned, Marty’s concerned. We know something’s going on. You don’t have to tell me, but---Just promise you’re looking out for yourself yeah?”

Mitch swallows. He feels like he’s been carved out in the middle. Like a small breeze could blow him right over. “Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

“I promise.”

“Good.” Mo rubs his hand along the back of his neck, “Sorry for springing an intervention on you like that.”

Mitch feels his face crack into a smile. He reaches over and ruffles Mo’s hair. “No problem.”

After that, Mitch lets himself feel a tad bit lighter.

\-----

If someone were to ask Mitch if he was in love, he’d say “Fuck no.”

It isn’t love---true, heart-bursting, tear-shedding, boombox-holding love---if you aren’t loved back.

\-----

“I think I’m gonna get a cat,” Willy declares, swinging his arm over the edge of Mitch’s terrible white leather couch. They have a practice tomorrow and a game against the Flames Friday, but it’s already too late for Willy to get home by himself. He’s drunk too much anyway. With Mitch’s luck, it’s easier to just let Willy crash in his guest room.

Mitch laughs. “That sounds like the worst idea you’ve ever had.”

“It sounds like you’re just jealous of the awesome cat I’m getting.” Mitch snorts. “It’s okay, Marns. You can visit him on weekends.

Mitch hurls one of the throw pillows at Willy’s face. “I don’t care about your stupid cat, Willy.”

“Don’t call my cat stupid!” 

Mitch shakes his head, smiling. “You are absolutely ridiculous.”

“I can get it a little Nylander jersey and everything!” Willy exclaims.

Mitch launches another pillow at him.

They didn’t plan on getting absolutely shitfaced. But Willy’s voice was so small on the phone and Mitch is too lonely to say no to someone who won’t interrogate him.

The two of them drink some more. They drink and dick around and pretend to be productive members of society. It’s a really bad idea, but Mitch can’t be bothered to care. Tomorrow-Mitch can deal with it, he says.

The next morning, Mitch wakes up face-down into his pillow with a headache that makes him tear up. An Instagram notification comes up—a picture of Auston and some model—when he unlocks his phone. His eyes are a little red in the mirror, a little puffy. 

If Willy remembers any the night before, he doesn’t say anything. 

\-----

Sometimes Mitch dreams.

Sometimes they have a log cabin on a lake somewhere in Ontario. They both pretend they know how to fish and both fail miserably. They watch the sunsets together from the wraparound porch. The forest is filled with birds and miscellaneous wildlife.

Sometimes they’ve got a high rise apartment downtown. The doorman calls them both “Mister Hockey”. There are pictures and jersey’s and personal whatevers on every shelf. 

Sometimes they have a dog. Sometimes a cat. Sometimes they live on this farm with cows and sheep and goats. Sometimes they have kids.

And then Mitch wakes up.

\-----

Auston approaches him after practice. He walks up in his pretentious beanie and his stupid $200 scarf and Mitch doesn’t whether he wants to run closer or away. In the end it doesn’t matter. Mitch’s body ends up freezing, just staring as Auston comes closer and closer.

Through their breath, Mitch can see the darker than usual circles under his eyes. Auston looks--well, he looks like shit. There’s no kinder way to put it.

“Um,” Auston says.

How eloquent, Mitch thinks. It’s something he wants to chirp. Something he wouldn’t even think twice about a few months ago. Mitch shoves his hands into his pocket.

“Do you wanna like--” Auston begins.

There’s a lump burning a hole in Mitch’s throat. He blinks once, takes one shaky breath.

“Can you drive me home?” Auston says. “Patty was my ride and he had a...thing.”

Mitch’s throat is impossibly dry. “Sure.”

The radio starts playing something slow with a trap beat as soon as the keys hit the ignition. Mitch turns it down, but doesn’t turn it off. He knows Auston likes this shit. 

“So,” Auston starts. He’s looking through the windshield, not at Mitch. “How are things?”

Mitch blows out a long, slow exhale. “Things are fine.” After a beat. “How are your things?”

It takes Auston a moment to answer. A time-stopping heart-chilling moment. Mitch’s car turns left and Auston opens his mouth. “A little less than fine,” he says.

“Oh?” is all Mitch can think to say.

Auston scratches the back of his head, though Mitch is driving and doesn’t pay attention. “I—uh—fuck. I don’t know what to say. I just. I had sex with my best friend. Which is you. You and I had sex.”

Mitch nods. He swallows. Slowly, he says “Yes.”

“I needed to say that.”

“Okay.” The song on the radio transitions into an ad for car insurance. Mitch should’ve splurged for the SiriusXM membership. “Is that what Patty’s thing was about?”

“I don’t fucking know. He bailed on me, honest. I have the texts to prove it.”

Another left turn. Only four blocks away from Auston’s apartment. “Damn.” Three blocks.

They stop at a red light and Mitch looks over at Auston. His face is a little flushed. Probably from the heat in the car. The tips of his ears, too. 

Mitch clears his throat. He’s not sure what he’s about to say, but it feels like something important. “I, uh--” Auston looks back at him and Mitch feels his mouth go dry. “That was a good goal you got, against the ‘Canes.”

Auston’s face is unreadable. “Yeah, that was a hella assist too.”

“Thanks, bro.”

The light turns green. Mitch drops Auston off at his apartment with a “see ya tomorrow”.

Time passes.


	2. Thaw

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time passes.

Time passes.

They don’t win the cup. And then it’s summer. And then suddenly it’s been a whole year since the moment that’s burrowed itself deep into Mitch’s mind, always sitting there. 

It’s insane to think that twelve months ago, Mitch was feeling the scrape of Auston’s stubble against his skin. The goosebumps still rise on his arms when he thinks of it now--

Which he tries his best not to do. He really does try. Mitch just needs to get over it, and torturing himself with memories of that night is  _ not  _ the way to do that. He feels like he’s making progress, though. He totally didn’t cry last Saturday after working his way through two clubs and five (-ish) tequila shots.

Mitch is fine. He is managing. Not that he has anything to manage. Because everything is and always has been  _ fine _ , despite whatever Willy says.

“He’s an asshole,” Willy drawls. “Seriously.”

“Shut up,” Mitch mumbles. He tries to smile a little, hopes he pulls it off. “You don’t even know what he did.”

“Which is how I know he’s seriously an asshole!”

They aren’t in a club this weekend, Mitch had started feeling a little grey around the edges frequenting them so, well, frequently. However, Mitch is starting to miss the flashy atmosphere. Between the girls and the music and the glitter, there’s always something to distract Willy.

Willy stretches out on Mitch’s couch like a cat bathing in the sun. Mitch has himself curled into a ball at the other side. They hold matching Playstation controllers in their hands. “Boom! Headshot, bitch,” Willy exclaims. 

“It doesn't matter how much of an asshole he is,” Mitch says, earning a skeptical eyebrow from Willy. “It happened forever ago, I’m over it now.”

Willy snorts, not even looking away from the game, “Oh-kay.”

“For realsies, dude. I’m like not even bothered. The past is in the past, or whatever,” he says it like he can’t still feel phantom lips on his.

“Does Auston know that?”

Mitch pressed a button on his controller, throwing it down onto the couch cushions. “I can’t--I’m not talking about this anymore. It’s--just--it is what it is, okay?”

Willy raises his eyebrows, even more questioning. “Alright,” he says gently. “I’m sorry for pushing too hard.”

“It’s fine,” Mitch can feel a headache building at the base of his skull. He stands up, moving towards the kitchen. “I need a drink.”

“Now that’s something I can get behind,” Willy smirked.

For the umpteenth weekend in a row, Mitch and Willy get absolutely shitfaced. At least they’re not in public this time, Mitch justifies. Which, he never really lets himself get drunk enough to become the type of PR nightmare tabloids thrive off of, but sometimes the line between fun drunk and miserable drunk blurs a little. Miserable drunk is never good for the public.

Tonight, he uses the sheer power of spite to force himself into having a good time. He’s figured out all the right moves to keep Willy from spilling his feelings all over Mitch’s apartment floor. The two play shitty music too loud and play video games until they’re too drunk to remember which button does what. It doesn’t make that wretched, ripped-up feeling in Mitch’s guts go away, but it helps him ignore it for a little while. It’s something like progress.

  
  


\-----

  
  


Auston leaves for Arizona sometime between that Saturday and the next. Mitch doesn’t even know what day, he doesn’t even care. 

Last year, Auston left on a Tuesday. Mitch almost drove him to the airport. He would’ve done it then, if Auston had been there to let him--but Mitch doesn’t think about stuff like that anymore.

He has to focus on the present, where Mitch is presently being handed a bubbly-looking drink by a waitress in a cocktail dress that fits her in all the right places.

“That looks delicious, thank you,” Mitch says with a little wink.

He doesn’t take her home that night, but he almost does. 

_ See _ , progress.

  
  


\-----

  
  


Auston sends Mitch a photo on Snapchat one day, which by itself isn’t all that weird. They snap each other semi-regularly, nothing more than empty fluff to keep their streak going. It’s up to something like thirty-eight now. This one though--

Auston is smiling wide, a pair of sunglasses sitting easily on top of his head. It’s the type of smile that shows every perfectly white tooth. Auston’s got some bright pink Hawaiian flower necklace on over his tank top. He’s a little more tanned than when he left and his eyes are closed. He’s laying on some sort of lawn chair. The picture looks like it was taken at a beach or a park, somewhere outdoors and sunny. It looks...personal.

Mitch’s chest hurts a little looking at it. It would be the perfect picture for a lockscreen. For whoever Auston is close enough to have Auston as their lockscreen.

Auston almost definitely meant the picture for someone else.

He thinks about just closing the picture and going on with his day. Instead, Mitch flips the camera to himself. He swipes over into some goofy cartoon animal filter and sticks out his tongue.

_ gettin’ bored yet?  _ He captions it. It’s his best attempt at casual.

Quickly, Mitch gets the notification telling him Auston is typing. He opens the chat, watching the little Auston bitmoji. It pops up, then back down, then up again.

_ nah _

_ just finally experiencing some good fucking weather again _

Mitch sends back a snowman emoji, then a frowny face.

He doesn't say anything else, can’t think of anything else to. There are too many things he wants to say. He wants to say nothing at all.

So does Auston, apparently. His bitmoji disappears after another couple of moments.

  
  


\-----

  
  


Mitch has lunch with Marty and his wife and kids a couple times over the summer. Being around their house in kind of awesome, Mitch realizes. It’s fun in a family channel kind of way.

Mitch and Marty play street hockey with the boys and a couple of neighbour kids before they retire to the backyard, Mitch watching Marty and his wife take turns grilling hot dogs and burgers. The kids claim they’re playing tag as they chase the poor dog around. Marty holds a crisp orange crush in one hand, waving the other around wildly in the middle of some story about his wild high school days.

Mitch throws his head back and laughs. He feels lighter than he has in months. 

“I hear Auston’s getting back next week,” Marty says, after they’ve eaten. They’re sitting in these ugly pink deck chairs, looking out at fluffy white clouds.

Mitch swallows. He keeps his face neutral, ”He is?”

“You two haven’t talked, then?”

Mitch shrugs, “Just busy, I guess.” 

Marty snorts.

“Does he—I mean, have you heard from him much?” Mitch chews his lip. He wishes he could resist asking. So much for progress. “Since the season, I mean.”

Marty shrugs, mirroring Mitch’s answer. Only this time Marty says: “We call sometimes.”

There’s something about the way Marty says that that makes a shiver go through Mitch. It’s perfectly casual, unassuming. It’s calculated almost.

“Oh.” Mitch’s fingernails dig into the cheap wood of the chair’s armrest. 

“Mitch—“

“I should go,” Mitch says quickly. He jumps onto his feet, “Thanks for lunch, Marty. This was really fun.”

By the time Marty catches up with him, Mitch is already halfway out the door. “Mitch, wait,” he sounds sad. Mitch doesn’t think he’s ever heard Marty sound sad before.

Mitch plasters on a smile, “I’ll see you later, yeah?”

The wrinkles in Marty’s forehead smooth into something more sympathetic, “Yeah, Mitch, of course.”

  
  


\-----

  
  


_ what the fuck did you tell Marty _

Mitch sends. It’s nearing 1 am in Toronto. Mitch has no idea what time it is in Arizona, but the reply comes almost instantly.

_ ? _

_ he fuckign ambushed me today _

_ he told me he talked to u _

_ I didn’t say anything Marns _

_ bullshit _

Then, Mitch’s phone starts to ring. Auston’s face, obnoxiously large, takes up the whole screen. After letting it ring a couple times, Mitch reluctantly presses the answer button.

“Hey,” Auston greets, irritatingly smooth.

Mitch’s hands ball into fists, “What did you say, Auston?”

“Listen, man,” that’s Auston’s serious voice, now. “I didn’t say shit to him, okay?”

“You had to have said something because I sure as shit didn’t!”

“Just, fucking,” Mitch hears the sound of blankets rustling. “Calm down please.”

"Calm down?" Mitch takes in a sharp breath. “It’s not—what gives you the right? It’s not fucking fair, Auston. It’s not.” And Jesus, Mitch feels his throat tighten. He blinks his eyes closed, hard. 

“Will you just listen to me?” Auston snaps. “Please.”

Mitch swallows.

Auston must take Mitch’s silence as agreement. “I didn’t tell Marty anything about  _ us _ , okay?” Auston hisses.

“Then why did he—?”

“I told him I’m gay,” Auston says.

Mitch feels the rug being pulled out from under him. “ _ Shit _ .”

“Or at least bisexual.”

“Shit,” Mitch repeats. 

“Yeah.” Auston clears his throat. His voice sounds so foreign in this moment, like ice. It’s cold and easy to shatter. Mitch has never heard him like this before. “That's probably what it was about.”

“ _ Shit _ .” Mitch runs a hand through his hair, “God, I’m such an asshole.”

“You’re really not.”

Mitch laughs humourlessly, “I really am.”

“You didn’t know.”

Mitch shrugs even though he knows Auston has no way of knowing.

“Look,” Austen says. He sounds determined now, the way he does before a game. “This isn’t how I wanted to say this, but I am sorry for the way I just walked out on you. After, you know. It was really not cool of me.”

Mitch’s throat grows even tighter. “Yeah,” he strains against it and hopes Auston can’t tell. “Thanks for saying that.”

“I’m not just saying it, Mitch. I mean it.”

“Thanks for meaning it, then,” he says. 

Something on Auston’s side of the line buzzes and he curses under his breath, “I really need to go now, but, um, I’m getting back into town next Thursday if you’d maybe like to hang out?”

Mitch bites his lip, nodding despite the fact that he’s on a voice call, “Sure, yeah.”

“Cool,” he can hear the smile in Auston’s voice.

“And, uh, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry I assumed.”

“It’s no problem Mitchy,” the smile is still there. “I’ll catch you later, okay?”

“Yeah,” Mitch says, “okay.”

After Auston hangs up, Mitch stares at the blank screen for what could be a couple of minutes. He tries to process what the hell just happened, what the hell Auston just said. It’s kind of a lot. When he puts the phone face-down on his bedside table, Mitch’s hands are shaking.

Mitch takes a sleeping pill to fall asleep and wonders if by the morning he’ll think it was just some weird dream.

  
  


\-----

  
  


The thing is, Mitch had never meant to fall in love with Auston Matthews. He just...did.

  
  


\-----

  
  


Somehow, Mitch agrees to pick Auston up from the airport. 

Auston slides his suitcase into Mitch’s backseat, then sits in the passenger seat. “It’s, uh, nice to see you again,” Auston says.

Mitch’s mouth forms a flat smile, “Yeah, dude.” He turns up the radio. Mitch doesn’t want to talk. He looks away from Auston’s smiling face and grips the steering wheel.

They drive to Auston’s place in uncomfortable silence. Mitch has driven Auston home from practice a handful of times last season, but it wasn’t often and the route seems unfamiliar all over again.

Mitch helps Auston carry his luggage inside because Mitch prides himself on being a gentleman. 

“Thanks for helping me out,” Auston says. They’re lingering in the hallway, somewhere close enough to Auston’s front door to be goodbye. Auston’s looking at Mitch with these eyes, like he’s not sure if he wants Mitch to go or stay.

“No problem,” Mitch says. He sticks his hands in his pockets. He wants to make an excuse to say goodbye. He doesn’t.

Auston’s eyes flicker, hovering around Mitch’s face without touching it. He scratches at the back of his head, “You want a coffee or something?”

“You even have coffee?” Mitch asks. 

Auston shrugs, “I might.”

Mitch doubts he does, but follows Auston into his kitchen anyway. As Auston rifles through his cabinets and drawers, Mitch takes a seat at the island. 

“Here we are,” Auston says. He pulls out two dust-covered K-Cups. “You good with French vanilla flavour?”

“Sure.” 

The sound of the Keurig machine rumbling fills the air. 

“I, um,” Auston begins. He sounds breakable again in the same way he had on the phone. “I don’t really usually talk about my feelings and stuff, yeah?”

Mitch nods.

Auston inhales a shaky breath, “Listen, Mitch, I’ve been seeing someone. Not like a date someone. A therapist someone.”

“Oh,” Mitch says. This new Auston is full of surprises, it seems. “Wow. Okay.”

“Mo was kinda there when-- well, he saw when things got bad and gave me the idea.”

Mitch leans forward a little bit, “What do you mean ‘when things got bad’?”

He sees Auston swallow. “There was just some time where I just wasn’t healthy, you know? Linda--that’s my therapist--she helped me realize that. She helped me realize a lot of things, actually.” Auston looks up at Mitch then, with these big round doe eyes. He’s a puppy dog, Mitch thinks.

“What are you trying to say, Auston?” Mitch notices he sounds delicate too.

“I miss you, Mitch. I miss you so much,” Auston sounds a little desperate, a little like he’s begging. 

And Mitch needs to close his eyes. He needs--he needs to take a step back, he needs to not be here. Mitch squeezes his eyelids until they hurt. “You were the one who left,” he bites.

He doesn’t see Auston’s flinch. “I’m sorry,” he hears him say.

“Kind of late for that, don’t you think?” Mitch  _ cannot  _ start crying right now. 

“You told me you loved me,” Auston whispers. “Mitch, I need to know--”

“This isn’t fair, Auston,” Mitch pleads. 

Behind his eyelids the moment plays itself out: Auston and him tangled in Mitch’s bed sheets. It was a breathy, barely-there confession. Auston wasn’t meant to hear. Mitch hadn’t meant to say it.

Mitch opens his eyes.

“I need to know if you still do,” Auston finishes. He looks for a long while into Mitch’s eyes. He too looks to be on the verge of tears. “ _ Please _ .”

“Yes. The answer is yes,” Mitch says through gritted teeth. “I still love you, okay? Is that what you wanted to hear? I don’t want to love you anymore, but I do. I still love your stupid face and your stupid voice and those goddamn stupid turtlenecks you wear all the time.”

“Mitch,” the voice is soft.

Mitch feels Auston walk around to his side of the island. Auston grabs his hand. It’s warm.

“ _ Mitch _ ,” Auston repeats. Mitch looks up into those big brown doe eyes. He feels a tear run down his face. “I love you too.”

It’s then that the Keurig machine makes some horrible, gurgling noise. Mitch looks over just in time to see coffee spray all over the white tile of Auston’s backsplash. Mitch can’t help it. He bursts out laughing.

And then Auston starts laughing too. Soon enough, they’re both bent over with laughter, staring at a broken coffee pot that isn’t even that funny. Mitch is wiping tears from his eyes in between gasps for air. Mitch can tell he looks like a mess. “Oh my god,” Mitch pants. 

Auston smiles at him. It’s real and genuine and everything Mitch has been living without for the past thirteen months. Mitch loves that smile.

Auston’s hand comes up and cups Mitch’s cheek. “I know I acted like a major asshole,” Auston says. “I was dumb and emotionally repressed--and I know that’s not an excuse, but I’d like to make it up to you. If you’d let me try?”

Taking a moment, Mitch makes himself actually think it over.

“I’m still mad at you,” Mitch says. “But, yes. I think I’d really like that.” 

He watches Auston’s face morph into the widest grin Mitch has seen in a long time. To his surprise, Mitch feels himself wearing the same expression.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading this!
> 
> I really meant to finish this much (MUCH) sooner, but I guess a bit of life happened. I hope you enjoyed this regardless!
> 
> <3 <3 <3


End file.
